George Gordon Byron

I
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,

Maid of Athens, ere we part,
Give, oh give me back my heart
Or, since that has left my breast,
Keep it now, and take the rest

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:

Oh
did those eyes, instead of fire,  With bright, but mild affection shine:
Though they might kindle less desire,  Love, more than mortal, would be thine
For thou art form'd so heavenly fair,  Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam,

Strahan,
Tonson,
Lintot of the times,   Patron and publisher of rhymes,   For thee the bard up Pindus climbs,         My Murray
To thee, with hope and terror dumb,   The unfledged MS

The roses of love glad the garden of life, Though nurtured 'mid weeds dropping pestilent dew,
Till time crops the leaves with unmerciful knife, Or prunes them for ever, in love's last adieu
In vain, with endearments, we soothe the sad he...

There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gathered then Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when Music arose with its voluptuous...